Antagonist
by Valour Godspell
Summary: What runs through Lavi's mind when he's all alone and there's nothing to distract him from his own thoughts? Rated as is just to be safe.


_All characters belong to Hoshino Katsura._

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There's a man cowering in the corner of a darkened room, shaking from fear. His demons point and cackle at the miserable heap of negative emotions huddled into a ball. His arms pull his long legs in closer to his chest as he silently throws his tortured thoughts towards them, knowing that nothing can save him from this. He wants to scream, to fight them off and tell them to find someone else to haunt.

But he can't. Because they are inside of him; they _are_ him. This is what he chose for himself and he can only wish that he had prepared himself better for the consequences.

He sobs quietly before dropping off into a fitful sleep. Not that it is much of an escape. Nightmares begin to pick away at his mind, finding the cracks and turning them into larger fissures that can never be truly healed.

If you had seen him before he'd retired to his room, you wouldn't have noticed the deep pains that he'd hidden so carefully. In the daytime, he lives life as a different person. He's a handsome boy of over six feet tall with bright red hair and a glowing eye of green, the other of which is hidden under an eye patch. He's a sprightly young man, his energy infectious even to those who are generally reserved. He often spends his time in the library reading with his mentor, and when he's out in the field his fearsome battle skills with his war hammer, tactical knowledge, and quick thinking make him a fearsome foe and an impressive ally. His friends can mostly agree that he's someone that you'd want to meet. But that's not who he really is.

_A Bookman has no need for a heart._ He's tried so hard to follow this one unspoken "rule" that his clan has, but there are two possible reasons for why he can't seem to do so. The first is that he's too young. Inexperience is something all too familiar for us because as humans we aren't born with the innate ability to, say, solve mathematical equations or recite poetry from memory. We're born frail and insignificant and we create ourselves based on the environment that had been created for us.

The second possibility...well. That is more complicated.

Empathy, the ability to put yourself into someone else's shoes. It's a much stronger feeling than sympathy. It can generate such strong emotions and lead people to do great things, but whether those actions are deemed good or bad can only be judged by the man who hears the news. This capacity to understand one another on such a deep level is part of what makes us human.

As it is, asking someone to set aside their emotions seems almost inhuman. But that's part of this young man's life, to set aside his biases and watch the world turn without him. He's just a shadow, someone who observes but cannot participate though he may want to. Lands could be lost to the Noah. Human souls could be enslaved and corrupted. The people he once called "friends" could very well die and no one would remember their names, much less their once lovely faces.

And through it all he will just be a bystander, carefully watching the decisions that lead to the unforeseeable future, but he cannot be called innocent for he is well beyond that. He believes that so much blood will be on his hands that no action of his in the aftermath no matter how much of it was done in purely goodwill would justify his inability to follow his own conscience. Or, rather, his ability to objectify the world around him and allow himself to be a ghost.

As the dawn begins to break, the boy (for that is what he is to the world, a mere child) wakes and realizes that he had been crying in his sleep, the nightmare affecting him even in the waking world. Before his mentor can see, he wipes away the tears with the heel of his hand and takes a few deep breaths. He sits up, gathers himself, and goes through the rest of the day as usual, as if he'd never seen the sky turn gray and weep. As if he'd never seen the fury of Mother Nature as it launched searing waves of liquid earth over the land. As if he'd never watched the winds become cross with each other and begin to ravage the land in their attempts to snuff out the other. As if the word "war" had never been a part of his vocabulary.

As if he'd never heard a mother grieve over her newborn baby. A stillborn.

I've suddenly come to the realization that no amount of empathy could possibly allow someone to truly comprehend what any of this would feel like. They're most certainly welcome to try, and doubtless they would if they really cared for me. Honestly, I myself have trouble imagining what this could feel like.

But if I can no longer understand my own feelings, then doesn't that mean I'm one step closer to understanding?

Is separating myself from my humanity the price for knowledge?


End file.
